Rain on a Tin Roof
by southernbelle4
Summary: Two years ago he needed her...Now she realizes that she is too late to need him. Part IV up, the conclusion...His POV, again.
1. She says

"Rain On A Tin Roof"

by SouthernBelle

PG-13 because of the theme only

Drama

I own no part of the West Wing or the characters that preside in said show. The show and characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, Warner Bros., and NBC. The title song was recorded and performed by Julie Roberts on Mercury Records. I'm making no money from this.

This is my first WW fanfic, but I have written several ER fics. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

_His eyes are blue just like the ocean_

_His heart is a river free_

_And now and then he gets the notion_

_And he finds his way to me_

_His love's like..._

It's been two years since the first time, about five months since the last. I ask myself over and over if this infrequent relationship...well, that is both an understatement and an overstatement at the same time. Is that possible? To say this thing is infrequent makes it sound like...I don't know. I suppose sporadic or erratic or random might be better words. And relationship? I can't believe that word crept into this situation. I mean while we have a relationship, it is purely professional. Except for when he needs me.

He needed me the first time. A man he trusted and had loved all of his life had been lying to him almost as long. That discovery alone could cause anyone to find the nearest bridge and contemplate the amount of time it would take to hit the water below. But not him. Oh, he took a chance, that's for sure, but it was one that could wind up being career suicide. Better than the alternative, I suppose.

He told me about his father the next morning, lying on the floor of my living room. My heart broke for him, as any friend's would, as he cried in my arms.

Once we entered the White House, we became colleagues again, and nothing more. It was a certain return to the friendly banter of the everyday, much like many people around this place. Did I enjoy the night before? Yes, but I did it because he needed me, not for myself.

__

_Rain on a tin roof_

_Sweet song of a summertime storm_

_And oh the way that it moves you_

_It's a melody of passion ragin' on_

_And then it's gone_

__

The second time was comfort to both of us. Some might say that it was the emotions of that May—the sadness, confusion, betrayal, the loss of a friend. To others, it could be seen as a product of the sheer energy of those moments of victory. Whatever it was, it helped us both though a time that I honestly don't think that anyone in the building would be able to describe in words.

There was no morning embraces of comfort that time, only a rude awakening in the form of the shrill chirping of his cell phone. A quick good bye and I'll see you later, and he was gone.

No sign of what happened between us for a second time crossed his face that day. Or the next or the next. He was too focused, focused on the President and how to protect him. That, after all, was his job...and mine too.

_He tells me he'll be back to see me_

_Every time he has to go_

_And I keep wondering just when that'll be_

_Cause with him you never know_

_His love's like..._

__

He was drunk the third time. Although, I have to admit, I was a bit tipsy myself. Such is the norm on the night of the State of the Union, at least for me. I knew there was a reason, or reasons, he had allowed himself to become so inebriated. Through his slurring, I was able to pick out something about a diamond ring, Tommy Hilfiger parties and cancer. Talking didn't much matter to me at that point in time, though.

It was more awkward waking up this time, both with hangovers trying to remember exactly how we wound up at his place, in his bed. But we covered well and soon continued our pattern of going to work like nothing happened. It was then I became confused as to what all of this meant.

_Rain on a tin roof_

_Sweet song of a summertime storm_

_And oh the way that it moves you_

_It's a melody of passion ragin' on_

_And then it's gone_

I woke up in his arms for the fourth time, after a night of talking and...other things. He had gotten guidance from the most powerful man in the world, that I was certain sealed his fate. Words like that from someone he admired so much put him on cloud nine and he needed someone to talk to. I was there for him again.

But it was then that I realized that I wasn't just doing this because he needed me. I needed him, too. I realized as he lay sleeping next to me that I was falling for him. I knew he didn't feel the same, but I didn't feel that he saw me as some cheap thrill either. I was his friend, and that role, I knew, had to be my priority with him.

_And just like a thirsty field _

_I can't complain a bit_

_Cause I'm thankful _

_For every single drop I get. _

_His love's like..._

It was nearly eight months before we were together again. This time was actually a twist of fate that worked out well. I was back at my parents when he called me to ask when I was going back to DC. I wound up taking my first trip on Air Force One that night, as seemingly the entirety of the West Wing had invaded my home state.

We sat together the whole trip and he filled me in on the latest development from California. I could tell by his whispered voice that I was the only one who knew of his new potential opportunities.

We traveled in the motorcade back to the White House and somehow wound up in my old office, because it lacked windows. This time was different. It was quick and impatient and a little desperate. There was no morning after, as we both went to our separate apartments to sleep the rest of the night.

_Rain on a tin roof_

_Sweet song of a summertime storm_

_And oh the way that it moves you_

_It's a melody of passion ragin' on_

_And then it's gone_

__

Five months ago, he showed up at my doorstep, carryon bag in hand. His last night here. He said he was headed to the airport, but had to see me once more. I put my arms around him to say goodbye, but that wasn't sufficient. One more time. Maybe there would be more...it was all so uncertain. The future is that way, I thought to myself.

He dressed quickly after we finished, in fear that he might miss his plane—might miss his chance of a lifetime. He always feared missed opportunities, so I was happy he was getting to take this one. A final kiss and he walked out my door. I cried a while, not because I was angry or even sad, but because I felt I may have missed my chance.

He is doing what he wants to now. He took his opportunity and he's happy. He doesn't need me now.

_And then it's gone_

_Then it's gone_


	2. He says

Part 2

No song for this part...simply a continuation of the first part. These are Sam's thoughts looking back on the events of Part 1.

I get no money for this. Don't sue.

Enjoy and Review!

Seeing her before I left was the hardest goodbye. It was almost surreal that the one person who would make me miss DC the most was a republican. A conservative, ERA-despising, gun protecting, pro-death penalty republican woman. Maybe it was the woman part more than it was about the republican part. I don't know how it has been five months and we haven't spoken.

I'm sitting here nursing a beer in the safety of my living room listening to the rain of a late spring shower hitting the roof, and I can't get her out of my mind. Maybe it's the song on the radio playing low in the background. In thinking back over the last few months, I could remember any number of important meetings or rallies, but she is always the first thing that comes to mind.

I lost the congressional race, but decided to stay put in California, prepare for the next time by getting more integrated back into the California DNC. She never sent a consolatory note telling me the same thing that everyone else told me over and over again. "You'll get 'em next time." No, it was silence from her, which, in and of itself, is nothing short of miraculous.

She had always been there...all the times I needed her. With my father, the MS, my ex-fiancée, and a possible congressional seat, she was there. When my thoughts come here, I always feel a twinge of guilt. The only times we slept together was when something happened, for the better or worse, in my life. I was selfish in our...whatever.

I never asked what was going on in her life. I never took the time to let her know that it was not just about the sex for me. I never told her how I really felt. She probably thought that it was just a comfort to me. But she never said anything. It hurts me to think that she doesn't know the truth.

I think I began to feel it the second time we made love. Yes, I was distracted by the events of that dark time in the administration, but I found that she became more of a rock for me that time. It was a time when she could easily head for the hills running toward the closest republican trench, but she didn't. She took me back to her apartment and held me and made me feel like it was all worth it.

I knew that she didn't want to be a part of a big political scandal, so I pushed my feelings aside, and carried on at work like normal. I eventually pushed those feelings so far back that I forgot about them. With the campaign and all that went on with that, it was easy to do.

I forgot about them until a few days after the special election. I was on the back porch of my condo, staring out at the Pacific. I was alone. A few days before, I'd had film crews following my every move, now I was just old news. Some guy who had a better than average democratic showing in a district that will probably never change.

I realized then that I missed her more than any of the others. They are my family, but she...she's more than that. I felt we made an undeniable connection that that somehow, I had been able to deny. She might not feel the same, though. She probably just sees me as some guy who used her to forget how screwed up his life was. Maybe that's how it started for me, but certainly not how it is now.

I've wanted to call her several times since then, hell, I've even picked up the phone and punched in most of the numbers, but I can't bring myself to finish dialing. She's doing some really great things at the White House; I know that she belongs there. She's in her element. I don't want to screw any of that up.

I haven't told anyone, not even Josh about the way that I am feeling. I smile a bit as I think of his reaction. He'd look at me like I was crazy at first, then he'd laugh his head off, followed by an apology and then he'd tell me to call her.

I really should...she shouldn't have to feel like I used her. She should know the truth. The truth is I miss her more than I've missed anyone in my life.

I miss the smile that followed her normal wit. I miss that Southern drawl that now dominates my dreams. I miss the arguments. I miss her laughing at me when I screw up. I miss the taste of her and the noises she makes when I touch her. I miss the feel of her hands on my skin the next morning.

Then I got so caught up in what was happening to me...the opportunities I had. I was selfish.

Without much fanfare, tears pour out of my eyes and down my cheeks. What the hell? I'm not a crier. And it hits me. I can't live without her. I'm lonely here, she feels like I used her. I can't go on without her knowing the truth. I needed her, not simply as someone to sleep with, but as someone to just BE with.

I wipe the tears away and do what I have to do...


	3. She says, again

Rain on a Tin Roof: Part 3

Note from the author: There will be one more part to complete this story. I have already written it, but I'm going to make you wait a few days for the conclusion. Thanks to everyone for the great reviews. Keep 'em coming, or I just might not post the final chapter ;) !

* * *

-RING-

It's his cell number on the caller ID. He expects me to pick up. After almost six months he wants me to answer the phone.

Does he really expect me to still be sitting here on a Friday night waiting for him to call? He probably expects me to grab the phone after the first ring. He thinks that he can just come running back into my life like a bullfrog to a puddle in the middle of July.

I'm no puddle, but toad could be an apt description for him.

-RING-

I thought I got past the 'I miss him but at least he's happy' phase. I entered the 'who the hell does he think he is' phase about three months after he left, but I've gotten past that too, and reverted back to being happy about his happiness. At least I think he's happy.

-RING-

I'm miserable, though, but it has little to do with him. He's gone, and I can accept that. We were friends and occasional lovers, nothing more. Do I feel like he used me? No. I was glad I could be of some comfort to him. That, after all is what friends are for. Sure, we had a unique way of expressing our friendship, but it worked for us. In past tense.

No, I'm miserable because of me. My job is no longer fun. I spend my days yelling at Josh about one thing or another, and when that doesn't work, I get Donna on him about whatever it is that particular day. I'll go over and over something with Toby, and still am unable to convince him of anything. CJ listens to me, and we have become fairly good friends, but she still thinks of me as the Republican girl from the South.

-RING-

At the end of the day my mind always goes to him. I could yell at him, but I never had to get Ginger or Bonnie to baby-sit him. I could convince him to see things in a different light easily, and he never sat there and scowled at me. And he did think of me as someone other than the blonde Republican girl that nobody liked. He got over that. This place seems lonely without him.

"HI YOU'VE REACH AINSLEY HAYES. I AM NOT HERE RIGHT NOW. I'M PROBABLY WORKING LATE. CALL ME AT WORK OR ON MY CELL OR BETTER YET, LEAVE ME A MESSAGE AND I'LL GET BACK TO YOU WHEN I HAVE A FREE MINUTE…WHICH SHOULD COME AROUND IN ABOUT FOUR MORE YEARS. THANKS!"

Four more years. I can't last four more years in that place. I don't have the stamina, nor the desire to stay. It's not worth it anymore.

I don't know what anything is worth anymore.

"Ainsley. It's Sam. Hi. Would you pick up please? Or open your door? I know you're at home. You car is outside. Please we need to talk."

I peek out my peephole, and sure enough…he's standing there. The overcast night doesn't allow me to see him well, but I know it's him.

I can't let him in. I can't face him. Not because I hate him or because I feel used, but because I let myself get caught up in this more that I should have. Damn emotions.

I slide down the wall next to my door, sitting on the cold tile for a while, pulling at my frayed blue jeans, giving him adequate time to leave. I open the door to make sure that he's gone, not thinking to check the peephole again.

He's sitting on my front step, waiting.

He doesn't turn around, but starts talking anyway.

"We never talked about it."

"Didn't think you wanted to."

There is no need for either of us to question what the 'it' was.

I lean against the door jam looking out onto the street.

"I didn't," he finally turns to look at me. "But we should have."

I look into those dark baby blues, but I don't let myself fall again.

"Yeah."

"Ainsley, I was wrong. I just don't want you to think that I was using you."

"Now why would I think that?"

"Please…"

I cut him off as he stands and faces me.

"Sam. I'm not mad at you. I was…there because you needed me. I wouldn't change anything."

"That doesn't make it right."

"I know. But it's not your fault or mine. It just happened."

"I want you back."

"Sam, you never had me."

He looks like I slapped him in the face. I try to back track.

"That's not what I meant. I'm just saying that we were a casual thing. There was never any indication that you wanted more. So I didn't press. You don't owe me anything."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Want more."

Suddenly, I can't speak.

"Ainsley."

I break our gaze, and look back out toward the street.

"At one point, I thought that I did. But you didn't need that pressure."

"Why don't you let me decide what I need and what I don't need?"

"Sam…"

"Ainsley, I need you."

I stare at him, but I don't let any emotion show on my face. I know we can't move this too quickly. It could be too painful.

"I…I'm not sure how to respond to that. You left. You live on the other side of the country. You never called, never wrote. Now you show up on my doorstep."

Tears are now threatening on the edge of my eyes, but I refuse to let them overflow.

"I know I don't deserve you, especially the way I treated you, but I've been thinking about you since the election. None of that matters now. I was...I thought I was going to miss my opportunity, but apparently it was the opportunity here that I really missed." he pauses and sighs deeply. "I'll go now. I had to try."

He throws his bag over his shoulder in defeat, and turns to walk out into the night.

He's standing at the street when I call his name.

"Let's talk about it now."

He stops as I follow him out. He faces me, and I see that his eyes are mirroring mine, shining and moist.

I continue.

"I missed you too. I wanted to be angry with you, but that never lasted. I just want you to be happy. I'm not saying that I'm going to be that for you, but we can put some effort into it. I want to try."

He tentatively puts his arms around me wrapping me into a hug, one that I hastily reciprocate.


	4. He says, again

Rain on a Tin Roof: the conclusion!

Author's note: Hope you have enjoyed taking this little journey with me, and I'm kind of sad to see it end, but this is the final installment of Rain on a Tin Roof. This chapter has a bit more levity in it, because I wanted to end on a happy note. Thanks to all who let me know they enjoyed the story. Tell me how you like the end, and I COULD be persuaded to write a sequel, even though I have no plans for one at the present time.

* * *

"That's the last of them." 

I sit on the couch with great dramatics, simply to illicit some sympathy from her. I don't get any.

"You moved six boxes. That's like a fifth of what the movers did, plus they moved big furniture, too."

"Six heavy boxes, I remind you."

"Yeah, linens, towels, pillows, magazines, office supplies, and newspapers. Poor baby."

I don't say anything, but I chuckle and close my eyes for a second. The French doors are open so I can clearly hear the Pacific Ocean hitting the sandy shore as the tide begins its ascent, cutting the distance from our condo to the water in half. The wind is picking up, and I can tell that a rare southern California shower is on the way.

This place is very different from the last place I lived. It was small, just big enough for me, and hadn't been redecorated in years. This place was bright and new and the perfect size for us. She spent lots of time and money in making sure that it was decorated to her expectations.

I open my eyes, and am treated to a nice view of her backside as she leans over to open the box of magazines that I worked so hard to bring in. To my disappointment, she stands up and looks at me, giving me a disapproving look. She rolls her eyes, but she is smiling, and moves to a different part of the house.

I stand up and walk out onto our deck. I look out into the deep blue waters, and realize how I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me. Four months ago, I sat on her doorstep thinking that I had screwed things up, never to be repaired. But she followed me out to the street. We spent the next few days just talking things over.

It was a slow process. I'd treated her badly, and she should never have taken me back. It took a while to regain that trust. But fortunately, she gave me a chance, warning me that Southern women rarely give out second chances, and never thirds.I honestly don't think that will be a problem, though.

She finally opened up to me and told me how miserable she was at the White House, so I suggested that she move out here with me. I helped her get a job at a law firm that belongs to a friend of mine from Duke. He's from North Carolina, so they get along great. We are planning on having he and his wife over for dinner next week, after we get the place set up to her standards.

What has been most enjoyable about the last few months has been the moments when it's just the two of us alone. Those other times before, it was just comfort sex. Now I sleep with the woman I love every night, without the awkwardness, without the pain it caused before.

"Sam!?!"

I hear her call frantically, drawing my name out to four syllables, and I smile as I make my way into the office that we will share.

I lean in the doorway and innocently ask her what the problem is.

"Sam what is this?"

She is holding the blue velvet box that I secretly planted in the box of office supplies.

"What does it look like?"

She looks at me with an incredulous look. I love it when she gets flustered.

"Ainsley, I think you know what it is. Aren't you going to open it?"

She swallows and holds it out to me, her hands shaking.

"You do it."

I walk over to her and take the box from her, opening it as I turn it around so that she can see the contents.

She gasps as she takes her first look at the three square-cut diamonds on the platinum band.

"Sam…I."

I place a finger over her lips, because I know if she starts, I'll never get a word in, and I have lots of words to say right now.

"Ainsley, I know that this seems fast, but you know that I love you. We tell each other that everyday. We've got this great new place, but I want it to be the Seaborn home, not Sam and Ainsley's love shack."

She chuckles at my lame attempt at humor.

"Seriously though. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know that I've given you reason after reason not to trust me, but I think that we're past that. I hope we are at least. I want you to be my wife. I'll do anything to ensure your trust, for as long as I live. So…"

"Just love me, Sam. That's all I need."

Our lips meet briefly, and she pulls the ring from the case and hands it to me, holding out her left hand. I put the ring in its proper place, and kiss her again.

Then the rain begins to hit roof, and everything is perfect.


End file.
